


Pompeii

by pjlover666



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: AU, Agression, Alchemy, Death, Fights, Grieving, Hope, M/M, Mage, Magic, Other, Reincarnation, drunkjazz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 08:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18735547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjlover666/pseuds/pjlover666
Summary: Jazz just wants to be drunk and be left alone. Is that too much to ask? Apparently...





	Pompeii

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a /long/ while since the plot bunnies bit me for a work of my own (because for the last couple of years I've only been RPing ^^") And tonight they bit good and hard and the story practically wrote itself.  
> It has some elements inspired from Fullmetal Alchemist ^^
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it.

It felt like acid was slowly eating through his spark and the hole there just kept growing bigger and bigger. Funnily the pain was like a drug, making him feel as if he was high on highgrade.

Jazz certainly felt drunk.

The world had… _tipped_ , since the death of his twin. It’s as if all the colors in it had faded, the energon lost its taste and everything was dimmer. Not just that, but it felt as if time had slowed down for him and everything around him was moving with such a speed that left nothing but blurry shapes.

Besides being numb by the pain, Jazz had become numb to life. Everything felt pointless and _irrelevant_. Most of all living. Well… he did feel /something/. Unimaginable anger perhaps was the only thing that gave him strength to online every orn since half of his spark had faded. He _should_ have faded with it.

Being alive only made him angrier. His spark burned and the hole in it kept growing bigger and bigger.

He had considered ending it all. And it would’ve been oh so simple. He had lost count of all the ways he contemplated doing it but Ricochet’s annoyed face would always pop up, disapproving of this plan. Jazz knew his twin wanted him to live. How did he know? Because he would want that for Ricochet if the tables were turned.

The question now was… how to exist in a world where Ricochet wasn’t in it?

Jazz had no answer to that (and believed there was _no_ answer). But at least he had found an /occupation/. Hunt down the mechs responsible for the death of his twin. And hunt he did. Then he had killed them in a slow, rather painful way. Unfortunately, their screams of agony couldn’t do anything about the agony he was still feeling in his spark. And when they were gone, the feeling of emptiness had only grown.

Then it was even more downhill from there. His credits had run out and Jazz had no desire to find a job whatsoever. What came next was only natural – he had lost his living place and found himself on the streets. The only way he managed to get some sort of credits and fuel was either through illegal fights or whoring himself out.

Jazz still didn’t give a frag. He was drunk (and in pain, and in agony) all of the time anyway.

Those two weren’t really a good combination and they often resulted in him ending up in fights. That’s what was happening tonight. He was in a fight – correction, he was _losing_ one. Not that he seemed to care. The fists to his face only seemed to be making the already dim world even dimmer and Jazz knew secretly he was hoping to die. Because no matter how hard they punched it couldn’t have hurt as much as his spark was already hurting.

But then the fight was stopped and Jazz allowed himself to slide down the wall. Energon leaked from his face (probably his nasal ridge) and felt it splatter on his chest. His vision was blurry, one optic cracked. He had stopped wearing his visor in a long time. He couldn’t – not when he saw Ricochet in the reflection.

And in his dim world there was suddenly black and white, and a little bit of blue. Blue optics. The tall Praxian crouched before him. “Are you alright?”

“What do you care?” Jazz huffed, the world (and the mech) spinning as he sloppily tried to clean the energon from his face but new one just kept running down. In the end Jazz just ignored it.

“Well, you were a punching bag for those creeps just now.”

“So? Wanna have a go too?” Jazz snapped as he tried to get up. Hopefully his drink was still waiting for him. He slipped and ended on his aft again. Uhg.

“I would rather not get dirty.” The mech responded easily as he stood up and watched Jazz on the ground.

Jazz suddenly felt humiliated. Not that he’d care how others view him but something in the way the other was looking at him irked him (or maybe he was simply just too drunk and over-reacting). “Then get outta my face.”

“I’m looking for assistance, actually.” The mech replied easily, not moving an inch besides his door-wings giving a small twitch.

“If ya don’t wanna get dirty, fragging me ain’t the best option.”

The mech scoffed. “If I wanted interfacing, there are establishments I can visit. No. I need /your/ assistance.”

“Oh my Primus, you’re a real pain in the aft. Just. Go. /Away/.” Ha! This time Jazz managed to get up though the world span too much and he had to hold onto the wall. “Besides, what can I do? S’not like I got anything of worth.”

“Actually, you do. And you’re wasting it.”

“Are ya gonna explain yerself or are ya gonna wait on a drunk mech to catch on?” Jazz asked, looking around. Now, where was his drink…

The mech stepped forward and automatically Jazz shifted to hit him, expecting an attack, but the mech easily caught his hand in a strong grip. It was almost laughable. Then he reached with a hand and brushed some of the energon from Jazz’s face.

“I need this.”

Jazz stared at the blurry image of the mech before him. “Ya’ve got issues.” He slurred.

“True. But I need the energon of an original split-spark twin.” The mech explained. “For a spell. And I need it fresh.”

Jazz… stared. “Primus, how hard did they hit me? I’m hallucinating…”

“I assure you, I’m quite real.” The mech was frowning at him. “I will pay you a rather generous sum. You’ll still have more than what you have—“

“Not interested.” Jazz said, pushing him away and managing to get out of his grip ~~only because the mech let him~~ and started wobbling his way towards the bar. Fine, he’ll order a new drink… or three.

“You have /nothing/ to lose—“

“Ha, ain’t that the truth.”

“—I just need about a chalice of your energon. I’m from Praxus. Our Crystal Gardens, the spark of our culture, they were destroyed in one of the resent skirmishes on our /peaceful/ lands. We draw our powers from those very crystals. Without them, our entire culture will die.”

Jazz gave a dramatic yawn, rubbed the energon from his face and slapped it messily on the other’s chest. “Here. Now go away.” He slurred.

The mech revved his engine angrily. “Trust me, if I knew any other split sparks I would be speaking with them, but you’re currently the only one I’ve seen in _vorns_. I don’t need the energon of a twin - I need the energon of a being that was once /one/, then became more. I can revive the crystals if I have all the ingredients for my spell.”

Jazz snorted (which only caused a little bit more energon to flow out his nasal ridge). “ ‘Revive’? That’s slag. Once something’s gone, it’s gone. And no amount of magic or praying or whatever can bring it back.”

“I know. That’s why I won’t use magic or any of our normal spells. I’ll use alchemy.”

Jazz gave a soft groan. “And here I thought I was the drunk one. Sorry to burst yer bubble, but it ain’t gonna work.”

“It will work.” Determination flowed in the mech’s voice. “It’s the laws of equivalent exchange. You used to be one, then you were two.” Damn, did his spark give that painful ache amidst all the numbness because of that /obvious/ reminder. “I’m going to bring them back.”

“No, ya ain’t!” Jazz said, finally snapping and shoving the mech. “What’s dead is dead! Gone! Gray! Cold! He’s never coming back and you won’t ever get to feel him again! So just get it out of your thick, stupid helm! This isn’t a fairy tale, there ain’t no happy ending! There’s /no/ fixing this!”

The Praxian allowed the other to shove him and for a moment seemed like he was going to advance but stopped in the last moment. His door-wings gave several sharp twitches. “…I don’t know why you’re alive, when he isn’t. But I have to believe there has to be some sort of a higher reason. Don’t you want to make your life meaningful? Certainly your brother—“

He couldn’t finished that sentence because Jazz had suddenly punched him, surprisingly accurately and hard for how drunk and damaged he was. “Don’t /ever/ talk about my twin.” He said in a low, dangerous voice.

The mech wiped the energon from the corner of his mouth, glaring at the other, door-wings in a high, aggressive V. “…Even if I tell you I can bring him back?”

“Shut up.” Jazz snarled.

“It’s true. If my spell works, and I am able to bring back our crystals to life, then I can have enough energy to harvest from them and bring him back to life with the same spell.”

“Thought you said ya weren’t gonna use magic.” Jazz snapped and it was a losing battle to stuffle the hope growing in his spark.

“It’s complicated to explain. It won’t be magic, but it will help that I will be more powerful with my strength returned.” The mech explained.

“And why should I believe you that you’ll really do that? No, correction, why should I believe that what yer telling me ain’t complete and utter /slag/?” Jazz asked, glaring.

“I can’t give you anything but my word, but you and I both know it’s better than spending the rest of your miserable life rotting here as a punching bag or occasional frag-toy to scum bags.”

“Go frag yerself.” Utterly done with this conversation, Jazz took a seat by the bar and waited to be served, hoping the other mech would just go away.

“If you change your mind—“

“Won’t.”

“—I’ll be waiting just outside the city at sunrise.”

“How poetic. Now go away.”

/Finally/ the mech finally listened to reason or whatever and Jazz was left alone.

Alone…

Jazz glared at his worn out and dented fists, the energon splattered on them, along with that on his chest. And if possible, glared at the spark behind his armor that still kept beating for some reason. Could that mage-mech really do what he was saying? If he can bring the crystals back to life, technically… there shouldn’t be anything stopping him from bringing back his brother to life...right?

Unless he was just planning to use him.

Well, then, he’ll be just one more he will have to kill, Jazz thought as the bar-mech poured him a drink and Jazz just reached for the entire bottle be left by his side. But if there was even just the tiniest possibility…

“Primus, just slag me.” Jazz muttered when he finished the bottle and wobbly made his way to the waste room, managing to somewhat wash off the energon from his face and frame (he still looked like slag, but at least he didn’t seem like he’d gotten straight out of a warzone) and made his way towards the meeting point.

The Praxian really /was/ there, much to Jazz’s drunken disbelief.

“So… you can bring my brother back to life?” Jazz asked, swaying a bit.

“…I can.” The other replied quietly.

“What’s yer name? I’m Jazz.”

“My designation is Prowl.” The mage, Prowl, replied as he watched him. Primus, Jazz was starting to hate that calculating look.

“Fine. Then it’s a very simple deal. I help you bring yer crystals back to life. Then _you_ bring my brother back to life. If ya can’t, then you’ll simply go tell him hi from me by joining him in the Well.” Jazz threatened drunkenly.

Prowl seemed to hesitate but in the end offered his hand. “Deal.”

“Deal.” Jazz shook it, gave a squeeze and then promptly passed out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Pompeii by Bastille


End file.
